Hermione Granger's Diary
by angryoldmen
Summary: This is getting quite pathetic, really. There are more wards on my secret stash of romance novels and seduction how-to guides than are on the entrance to my quarters." Chapter 10 is up. More World Cup, Hoorah!
1. April 15th Thru 30th

**April 15, Wednesday**  
  
Despite fact that haven't been back at Hogwarts' for more than two weeks since Easter Holidays, Mum sent care package with the morning owls. Included was a load of free sample sized Oral-B floss, sugarless treats (darling mum, don't have the heart to tell her that I have been accumulating a collection of her sugarless baking health hazards in the back of my wardrobe for ages now), a note stating that the neighbors, especially Mrs. Pierre and her grossly enlarged breast implants (which, considering their size, should be counted as an entirely other person, if not two) are quite concerned with the over abundance of the nocturnal creatures with parchments and packages attached to their legs flying from our back patio. Of course, Mum couldn't help but adding quite cheekily that she will be so glad when I am home for good as things will go back to normal like this is all just some sort of phase, like Barbie dolls. Perhaps I'll get tired of all this Wizarding nonsense and put my wand and rabid books in a rubber-maid container up in the attic next to the box containing the My Little Pony stage of her daughter's life.

Oh well, found diary amongst all the tissue paper. Suppose I will use it, why not? A Mister Tom Riddle pops to mind immediately, but something with a price tag attached from Macy's seems innocent enough.

**April 16, Thursday**  
  
Have decided that I must be the most revolting female on the face of the Earth. On a whim, had put on a bit of rogue and decided to try to remind Harry and Ron, that yes, I do have breasts hidden underneath these robes (I'm rather fond of them, in fact). Conversation arose over breakfast when most desperately single Ron pondered whom he was going to take to with him on the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend. Mind you, I have no interest in him, but the fact remained that I sat across from him with a large proverbial arrow saying, "Pick me! Pick me!" No, instead, he looks at me in all sincerity and makes that wiping motion on his cheek as if I accidentally smudged strawberry jam on my cheeks before asking if I know if Padma is still taken. What do I have to do? Charm four inches off the hem of my skirt like Pansy Parkinson so my bum hangs out and waves hello to passerby?  
  
_Hello, world. Looking for shag? Apply Within._  
  
Stomped outside in frustration at self a bit more dramatically than I had intended, causing a perky redhead to follow suit. Chewing on a piece of toast, she asks what is wrong. Of course, I revert to the melodrama of my peers and go through a bizarre routine where she has to inquire my problem at least three times, so I can refuse to respond at least twice before the conversation actually begins. Finally, I explain that I'm an anal retentive, obsessive over achieving bore, with cherry in tact. She laughs, but does she dispute any of the above? Of course not. _Lovely._ I huff and she comforts me by saying that although the first two are my own fault, she can help with the last. She explains that it's actually quite simple and proceeds to give me detailed instructions on how to shag any male.  
  
"First of all, be alone. So all eyes are on you. To ensure the former is true, make sure to either loosen a few buttons on your blouse or conveniently drop something at their feet, and hike up the skirt just a bit and bend over so they get a nice glimpse. Then, simply lick your lips provocatively, or give them a wink," She says with a knowing grin, "And they become putty."  
  
The femi-nazi currently residing in my head thinks I should be disgusted by the ease of it all. Although, it must also be taken into consideration that it's much easier said than done coming from a girl with all the right proportions. If it weren't for her large chest, she would tip over frontward. Even more disturbingly, the aforementioned red headed sexpot would have the exact opposite problem if her bum didn't act as a counter weight.  
  
Intend to do more research tomorrow.  
  
**April 25, Saturday**  
  
Have managed to purposely make off with _A Wizard's Desire_ from a blushing third year Hufflepuff. Felt pang of guilt before I was reminded of the instance in which she compared my hair to lightning strike victim when she thought I was out of earshot. Granted, that particular cosmetic spell hadn't been the most effective, but I learn from my mistakes (thus, will never, ever listen to anything Lavender has to say again ever). Anyway, will add aforementioned book featuring telltale bare-chested male with Gilderoy-esque hair to my collection later. This is getting quite pathetic, really. There are more wards on my secret stash of romance novels and seduction how-to guides than are on the entrance to my quarters.  
  
**April 26, Sunday**  
  
Throughout day, Ginny was determined that I report my progress and find a suitable mate and started listing possible victims.  
  
"How about Seamus Finnigan?" she asks somewhat eagerly, twirling a piece of red hair around her finger, absentmindedly.  
  
Fiercely shook head no. No Quidditch players. No avid Quidditch fans. No Quidditch posters. No Quidditch jerseys. Still debating whether casual spectators are acceptable.  
  
"What about Ernie Macmillan, from Hufflepuff. He's a prefect, at least."  
  
Had to remind Ginny that aforementioned prefect barely comes up to my chin and I'm hardly one to be considered tall. Have enough on mind, wouldn't want to work the dynamics of shagging someone who is vertically challenged, per say.  
  
"Justin Finch-Fletchley?"  
  
Feel the urge to emphasis the need for literacy. No Dick and Jane stories lying about will suffice. I insist on a wide variety of literary expertise- Bronte to Trollope, I really don't care, but I just might throw my knickers at anyone who quotes Nietzsche or Voltaire.  
  
As we leave the Great Hall, Ginny sighs and says I'm helpless. Professor Lupin passes by with a casual hello and I feign a sudden interest in my plaid socks as to avoid him witnessing the slightly embarrassing process of me melting into my shoes. Don't have the heart to tell Ginny I've already chosen.  
  
**April 29, Wednesday**  
  
After much ado, have decided on plan. First step: detention. Cliché? Hardly one to care but for once I mentally damn myself for being such a sucker for rules. Enter DADA classroom and slink into seat at front of room. Professor Lupin asks class to hand in two-scroll essay assigned week prior. Had planned to say that I had simply forgotten, implying a newfound mystique and landing a detention in one, but tongue went limp.  
  
Couldn't make self stop imagining the big, fat, zero in a grade book pointing and laughing as it will surely lower my grade average, ruin any chance of getting into decent university, and will unquestionably cause me to end up sitting on consignment furniture, eating cheesy poufs and drooling over a mechanic with bad hygiene two flats over as he will be the most eligible bachelor in my hideous future.  
  
Sigh helplessly and turn in essay.  
  
**April 30, Thursday**  
  
Made complete ass out of self. Found myself on staircase in mid-change with Harry and a particularly shaggable Professor Lupin while they discussed Quidditch. Although it's well known I despise the subject, I was put on the spot when the aforementioned Professor asked my opinion about the allegations against the Chuddley Cannons throwing matches.  
"She hates Quidditch, Moony. Don't bother." Harry had teased.   
"Well," I began, straightening my back as to appear taller and somehow more informed on the subject than usual, "although it's a particularly thuggish way to act, I don't see any harm in it as long as no one was burnt or injured."  
Remus bit his lip in an attempt to stop his laughter (unsuccessfully, I might add), and Harry just starred at me as if I were mad. Purposely went the opposite direction of Harry and Professor Lupin as soon as stairs came to a halt, thus adding an unnecessary half hour to route to library. 


	2. May 7th & 8th

**May 7, Thursday**  
  
YES! Have managed to secure my way into Remus Lupin's trousers through ingenuity, cunning, and a stroke of luck due to my obsessive anality (ironically enough).  
  
Had sat through an uneventful DADA, evidently too preoccupied with organizing notes for upcoming NEWTS with color coded stickies and thoroughly indexed outlines, only to find my attention wander up a pair of familiar shaggy robes and up to a smiling Professor Lupin. Looked around empty classroom, quite confused. Had he suddenly realized that he shared the same feelings I had been harboring since third year? Was he going to sweep me off my feet, clear off his desk and shag me senseless as he declared his undying love?  
  
"So you're the only volunteer, it looks like. The rest of the lot cleared out faster than you can Quidditch." He says with as he sits on my desk.  
  
Not sure what I was getting myself into, but eager nonetheless, I responded with an enthusiastic nod of the head.  
  
"Good, see you tomorrow night then. Be here around 8 o'clock."  
  
Should have said something witty, something that implied intrigue and mystery as if I had a date with some nameless dashing male, but couldn't speak due to rioting butterflies attempting to fly their way out of stomach through whatever means necessary. Instead, simply nodded and left.  
  
**May 8, Friday**

Missed dinner, due to time limitations: a girl needs time to prepare. Went through my daily beauty routine, which consisted of a simple hop in the shower and a drying charm on hair only to find that a mere ten minutes had passed. Somehow felt that this wasn't enough considering I was having my first date. Found self imagining Professor (note to self: must attempt to refer to future love of life by first name, at least) and I sitting comfortably on a bear skin rug against the fire, him holding me softly and protecting me from the howls of wolves outside as we will most certainly be living in pristine forest area complete with happily singing birds and beautiful sunsets. Hmm. Scratch that. Wolves Remus bad idea? Would he feel some kind of comrade with them? Certainly wouldn't want to have congratulatory dinner party celebrating first anniversary and have ten wolves show up. That would most definitely make an awkward situation, as I wouldn't know who to sit them by. Ron, although, with any amount of alcohol in him, would hit on anything, two or four legs.   
  
Anywho, must get back to matter at hand. Spend fifteen minutes trying to open wards concealing collection of tasteless (but useful) books swiped from silly third years or bought with flushed cheeks on Hogsmeade weekends only to realize that have managed to over complicated things and should remind self to jot down cheat sheet of wards. Rummaged through things, only to find that the seduction how-to guides simply assumed that I knew how to become "unbelievably vixen like" before they continued ranting. Taking deep breath, I realized what I had to do.  
  
"Pssssstt" I hissed into the common room where Lavender sat idly twirling her hair and starring into space. Almost felt badly disturbing her, as I know that ignorance most certainly is bliss. She looked around, somewhat confused before tiptoeing over to where I had stuck my head into the portrait of the Fat Lady.  
  
"Oh" she said with a great sigh of relief, "It's you."  
Looked at her strangely for a minute before continuing, "I need you" I said pointing at her, "To make me" Upon which I pointed to myself, "Look like this." I said finally, jabbing my finger into the front cover of a magazine featuring a glamorous looking witch.  
  
Lavender looked at me strangely, retracing my steps until she caught on. "So you want me to make you look like," she paused, with a horrified look, "_that?_"  
  
"Yes! Exactly!" I hissed. "Can you help?"  
  
She shook her head and took slow steps backwards as if I had just turned into some frightful looking creature declaring parental rights and demanding visitation every other weekend.  
  
"I'm going to need some help." She said finally.  
  
Nodded reluctantly and retreated back to my dorm while she rounded up a small army of giggling seventeen and eighteen year old girls.  
  
"Is this really necessary?" I asked when I had opened my door to find not only Lavender and Parvati, but Natalie MacDonald, Lisa Turpin and Jennifer Dunwill squirming their way into my dorm, all armed with wands and turning their index fingers and thumbs into tongs as to insure their safety as they examined particular items from my habitat more closely.  
  
Within minutes Parvati Patil had turned herself into beauty queen drill instructor. One girl sighed and grunted as she battled with hair as she had situated herself above toilet in order to grasp hair appropriately. Another dutifully worked on nails, hissing between clenched teeth about uncared for cuticles, while Lavender had sentenced herself to going through my wardrobe, sighing dramatically as she happened upon drawer full of knickers (all of which resembled large parachutes, none of those silly little floss like things for me). Meanwhile, I was flinching as Parvati viciously plucked hairs from my eyebrow one by one. Had the guts to ask why she didn't just charm them away and she responded with an evil grin that would make Snape walk away with his tail between his legs. Have feeling it has something to due with fact that I had gotten her in trouble for snogging Roger Davies few weeks back. Yes ladies and gentlemen, Parvati Patil is a sadistic woman.  
  
Two hours, four minutes and thirty six seconds later, found self in front of full length mirror comparing self to original cover of _Witch's Weekly_. Okay Granger, look at the bright side. There were _some_ similarities. Both of us had band aid sized skirts, only two buttons on a blouse that originally had twelve, hair reminiscent of a piece of wood: flat and stiff. Looked to Lavender and Parvati for some sort of reassurance whereupon, Parvati triumphantly announced that I was her masterpiece and the rest of the group simultaneously chirped with compliments all directed to Parvati for her fabulous work as if I weren't even there.  
  
"I look like a prostitute." I said resolutely, beginning to button up my blouse. There was a hush among the crowd as if I had just accused the Pope of turning tricks on the side. Parvati pushed the other girls out of the way until her face was half an inch away from mine.  
  
"You're my work, you look beautiful. Do you hear me?" Was becoming slightly afraid, "Beau-tee-full." She mouthed, pushing her nail into my chest with each syllable as to insure I got the point. Nodded obediently.  
"It's almost 8, get out of here!"  
  
Once again, obediently followed orders and rushed down to the DADA classroom, ignoring stares from other students in the corridor, trying to convince self they were just jealous but was becoming increasingly aware of partial nudity. Could have stuck small post it on each nipple, a band aid on bum and would have been more clothed than this.  
  
Outside the door of the DADA classroom, took two deep breaths. Decided two wasn't enough and took seventeen instead. Inside, Professor Lupin was studiously scribbling with his quill. Thought to self, this is my chance, and turned around to quickly rearrange cleavage as to somehow create illusion that it is three times original size before turning back around. Attempted to take a leaf from Ginny's book and swing my hips, seems seductive but innocent enough, yet when I tried, I somehow looked like I was attempting to shove my way through a crowd and cause serious injury using nothing but my child bearing hips as I walked towards his desk. Stopped before Professor looked up and noticed (thankfully).  
  
"Ah, Hermione, glad you showed. Let me go fetch the supplies." He said, looking up from his desk with that oh so turn-me-into-chocolate-syrup smile but with a raised eyebrow before he disappeared into his closets. Obviously, raised eyebrow was reaction of my appearance. But was it good raised eyebrow as in having just noticed the arse on the Boy Who Lived during fifth year? Or raised eyebrow as in "bloody hell, stop before you embarrass yourself any further, you're licking my teeth" (as was said in single, seven second, Fire Whiskey induced snogging session with Ron over the summer). Either way, had to get attention back on me, as this was prime goal. As Professor was to return any moment, had situated self with arms resting on desk facing closet, simultaneously increasing cleavage as I attempted to pucker painted lips in Muggle movie star like fashion all in hopes that I would seem impossibly seductive. Was so surprised when Professor reappeared with _cleaning supplies_ that inner poise abandoned me and fell to my feet exposing granny knickers and all.  
  
"Are you, err" he paused, looking away politely as he offered his hand to help me up, "feeling okay."  
  
"No!" I screamed, irritated at self and everything else in world as I grabbed my robe and buttoned it up hastily. "Do I look okay?" Actually think he was going to snicker but thought better of it. "I can't do anything right! Sure, bookworm Hermione. I can ace a test, I can solve a crossword, but I can't even get you to give me a second glance despite the fact that I pranced around half naked for your benefit."  
  
Huffed and retreated back to refuge of dormitory so I could eat excessively in seclusion and leave bemused looking Professor Lupin to himself.  
  
_Why me?_


	3. May 9th & 10th

**May 9, Saturday**

Hate Saturdays. Hate life. Hate everything. Have locked self in seclusion of quarters, stuffing face with anything edible in sight (including things not so edible, such as Mum's latest attempt at sugarless treats which strangely resemble lump of coal. Could be used as dangerous projectile, doorstop, etc, etc.) and have blatantly ignored Head Girl duties less threat to tell Dumbledore to expel Lavender for excessive promiscuity if she knocked on door one more time actually counts. Reminded self that could be like the rest of the world, wizard or Muggle, and blame everything on nasty menstrual cycle that couldn't have surprised me more than if had found out was having Voldemort's love child. Yes, blaming everything on aforementioned condition would do. Must go on hormone induced rampage, maim Malfoy beyond recognition (or turn him into permanent ferret: can't decide), rob Gringott's, all the while causing mayhem and destruction in my wake only so when Fudge dares to approach me and inquire reasoning, will spat "PMS" and demand cordial cherries and romantic comedies. Of course, he will quickly comply and acquit me of all charges as previous behavior was not fault. Thus, will be allotted four days of amnesty per month for rest of life.

Wonder if previous day's actions could be miraculously forgiven if condition is explained to Professor. Could claim was delusional, under the Imperius, or simply perform quick memory charm. Last option seems most feasible but would require getting out of horrid, floral patterned, floor length nightgown designated for days when I feel fat and worthless (goes perfectly with set of granny knickers Professor saw last night. Oh gods, don't want to think about it).

At least Crookshanks loves me as he will not stop purring against my hand. That's what I love about him, unconditional love despite how pathetic I feel. So much better than friends or boys. Oh, wait. He's simply hungry. _Bastard cat._

**May 10, Sunday**

Mere three weeks away from N.E.W.T.S. Pardon me, having anxiety attack. Must calm down. Perhaps this is a good thing as it will give me something to do _other _than having 40NTPM (NTPM Negative Thoughts Per Minute) about making ass out of self in front of Professor the other night. Still considering memory altering charm. Can just picture him having discussions on the Head Table come tomorrow morning.

"So how have you been, Lupin?"

Then, of course, the kind Professor will calmly sip his tea as he says, "Oh, fine, really. Friday night was rather odd, though. Granger came in under the pretense of helping me clean cages only to arrive dressed as a tart and throw herself at me."

The other professors will nod accordingly, except for Binns. "Really? She actually volunteered to help with those cages? Nasty buggers, those are."

**May 17, Sunday**

N.E.W.T.S. begin in a mere two weeks. Exhausted. Can't. Think. Must. Sleep.

**May 24, Sunday**

Crookshanks has decided the only suitable place to sleep is on whatever material am currently studying, so have taken this as sign from above and will allow self one short break. Insert mental sigh here. Am so stressed. Could swear that I saw the beginning of grey hairs peeking their ugly little heads out just to mock me. Was so upset, went to Ron and Harry and began to explain that I was going grey at the young and tender age of 18. Big mistake, as when I tried to give visual example, they turned it into the typical Hermione's Hair Is Actually Monster From The Black Lagoon comedy ritual. Alright, so hair is a bit unruly, but this is unnecessary as had two frightened looking first years approach me wondering if allegations concerning hair swallowing children whole were actually true. Replied no, of course, only to have the shorter one break out with:

"Nu-uh! But Ronald Weasley said that one time you were like, in the zoo and you stood too close to an exhibit of Fire-Crabs and your hair swallowed the whole lot and you didn't even notice until you went to wash it three days later and they fell out into the bath!" Looked over to find Ron laughing hysterically from his seat across the Gryffindor common room, knee slapping and all. Nice.

A/N: replaced with slightly longer version of third chapter. Still in need of beta. Still in post-shag haziness (sort of like esp. long hang over but much more pleasant). But the thank you's ive kept:

First of all, thank you all for being so supportive. This was supposed to be something just for fun and would have never imagined this kind of response. Love you all. Now to get a little more personal...

New Killer Star and Banksie: Thank you so much for quoting your favorite lines, its makes such a wonder review as it lets me know what you guys actually like.

Amariel and abespien: I have recently discovered my love for the hg/rl ship as I have been an avid hg/ss shipper for quite a while. Was so disappointed with who they casted as Lupin in the movies. Couldn't he have been at least as equally attractive as Alan Rickman? Gah.

Le Grimoire: don't be surprised if I throw in a special treat just for you a little later. wink, wink oops, must maintain air of mystery as I am the author. So scratch that. I _might _throw in a treat for you, but don't hold your breath as I love you for reviewing and might need you for moral support later.

One more thing: A reminder for New Killer Star, Amariel, lozfairy, and the rest of you lot, Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason the movie comes out Nov. 17. hoorah.


	4. June 4th 11th

**June 4, Thursday **

**7:05 a.m. Eating croissant in quarters.**

Have survived N.E.W.T.S considerably unscathed, but am a nervous wreak until the Wizarding Examinations Authority decides to gives us our results on the 11th. How could it possibly take them an entire week to get my results back? By them, am referring to whoever the WEA actually enlists to do their dirty work which could be anyone from disgruntled former strippers to children rescued from Bosnian sweatshops only to be forced to work a grueling 23 hour work day with a quill and a test key. Either way, am not very confident in their ability. If they aren't in top physical and mental condition, they could make a mistake, preventing me from having the top N.E.W.T.S I truly deserve. Should have seen this coming and spent wasted efforts with S.P.E.W. on W.E.A. workers (would have been more grateful and less obnoxious, for sure).

** June 5, Friday **

**9:00 a.m. **

Went to breakfast this morning, only to find Harry and Ron beside themselves discussing the upcoming Quidditch World Cup. Attempted mind over body thing as far as growing earplugs but was unsuccessful. But out of peripheral vision, thought I caught Professor Lupin starring at me. Of course, only snuck brief glance as I pretended to say something to Neville. Have been avoiding any and all eye contact with aforementioned Professor since dreaded Friday Night Of Embarrassment which in humble opinion, was so traumatic, that it should be declared a holiday and celebrated on the 8th of May each year by means of declaring victim and stealing their clothes before shoving them in front of a crowd of strangers, sharing pictures of them in tub as baby with potential dates, and finally feeding them Veritaserum in front of friends and family before inquiring about first sexual experience. Then, and only then, will I feel that my embarrassment has been shared.

Was brought back to Earth by a hopeful voice. "So, you're going. Right, 'Mione?" Looked at Harry and Ron who were in turn looking at me quite expectedly.

"Going where?" asked feebly and was rewarded with a response of disappointed sighs and hands thrown in the air quite dramatically as they had realized I was simply _pretending _to pay attention.

"To stay with us at the Quidditch World Cup. Lupin has himself a monster of a tent right near the pitch and invited all of us to stay."

Feigned disinterest as heart leaped out of chest and into Harry's milk. Quickly put it back into place and came back to rooms. Will not go. Will be too awkward.

**11:00**

Will go as is great opportunity. Love wilderness and friends. Will have fun.

**11:15**

No. Am not going. Hate Quidditch. Despise Quidditch.

**11:30 **

What does one wear to the Quidditch World Cup at my age? Wonder if (hope) tent is small enough that sleeping arrangements will have to be compromised.

** June 9, Friday **

**10:30PM Hiding in nook between bed and wardrobe.**

Harry, Ron, Ginny, Luna, and their according counterparts are all rioting outside door demanding that I accompany them on not so secret celebratory escapade. As Head Girl and appointed representative of Hogwarts' staff, simply cannot blatantly break rules.

** June 10, Saturday **

**4:05 a.m. **

Luurrrve frrreeends.

**11:00 a.m. Back in quarters, but not quite sure how.**

Will never, ever drink again. Feel like absolute poo. Giant, bushy haired, hungover, _poo. _Body has somehow turned against self, and feels like its rejecting all internal organs. Hate Glenchy, whoever he may be, and his bloody rum. Oh god, having flashbacks. Am going to be sick...

**11:30 a.m In bed.**

Feel slightly better after regurgitating everything eaten within the past two weeks. Feel lighter as well, but bulimic in same manner. Prefer keeping food in stomach once ingested.

After practically being kidnapped from quarters last night, was snuck through passageways to Hogsmeade via the Maurauder's Map all the meanwhile discussing the fact that we were all eighteen (except for Ginny, of course) thus, could theoretically walk into The Hog's Head or Three Broomsticks and demand as much alcohol as we could handle. Though, as we stood cramped underneath Harry's Invisibility Cloak and poorly concocted Invisibility Charms in the alley, decided that sneaking out and running into Madame Rosmerta or anyone connected to Hogwarts' was hardly being inconspicuous as House Cup was still on the line. Finally settled on electing Luna to approach a haggard looking old woman and bribe her into buying us liquor. Thought all was going well as she reappeared out of the Hog's Head with two extraordinarily large bottles of rum under each sweaty armpit.

"Ten galleons." She muttered.

"That's ridiculous!" I shouted, pointing at the price tag on the cap of one bottle, "The label says it only costs 2 Galleons a piece. So we will give you Four Galleons and another for your trouble."

This was obviously a very reasonable argument on my part but the Scary Woman With No Obvious Signs Of Teeth evidently disagreed as she demanded Harry's entire bag of money in exchange for not going to straight to the Headmaster. Tried to give my best apologetic look as Harry reluctantly handed over his bag.

Shortly thereafter, Ron was drunkenly standing on a table in the Shrieking Shack doing an impression of himself as an Auror, fighting, well, himself before falling off and landing most helplessly on his arse causing incessant giggling as Luna, Neville, Ginny, Harry and I finished off the rest of the two bottles of Glenchy's Rum. Can't recall much else, but have sneaking suspicion that cat (or werewolf, in this case) was let out of bag in an instance of drunken, verbal diarrhea.

** June 11, Sunday **

**4:30 a.m. **

Bloody hell, how can one possibly sleep when she knows that in a matter of three hours, her life will be changed for better or worse? No, am not referring to pregnancy test results but something much more important that doesn't result in little blob for child who cant talk nor use toilet and only grows up to spend your money and hope they can get a profit from your house when they put you in a nursing home. N.E.W.T.S. results will be delivered with morning owls and can hardly be expected to sleep, although since the sun isn't even up, suppose I will try.

**4:50 a.m.**

Tried to sleep- just very unsuccessfully. Perhaps will read.

**6:00 a.m. **

Have read everything in room (rather, flipped through books reading paragraph here or there as cannot concentrate on anything). Oh, maybe Ginny or Luna is awake.

**6:20 a.m.**

Note to self: Ginny is not quite as enthused about test results as I, being that she is quite grumpy and throwing inanimate objects at anyone who knocks on the Sixth Year dormitory door. Found that her usual dorm mates are sleeping on the floor of the common room and decided to leave her to her own devices.

**8:01 a.m.**

Am queen of the world. Have just received top N.E.W.T.S in every subject. Thank you disgruntled strippers, and Bosnian children from the W.E.A., I love you.

**5:00 p.m.**

Was packing things in preparation to leave tomorrow when Minerva (who permits me to call her that as she is no longer my teacher) came by to congratulate me. Was very flattered as she is quite possibly one of the smartest women I have ever met but then she asked what I plan to do after Hogwarts'. Realize that have been so busy achieving top marks that have no idea what to with them now that I have them. Am I destined to be old bag lady wandering around Muggle London pushing a cart muttering about getting top N.E.W.T.S. and being brightest witch of my year as I eat cat food from aluminum can as I still will have not figured out what to do with life?


	5. June 12th & 13th

** June 12, Monday **

**1:00 P.M In library.**

Bloody Exhausted. Between packing and performing Head Girl duties, feel like rolling over dead so little children can run along and poke me with sticks and house elves can figure out what to do with all the junk I seem to have accumulated over the years. Speaking of horrid little creatures (children, not elves), it seems as though Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs have finally figured out that as they have no chance of winning House Cup, might as well run around on sugar highs through corridors either stark naked, on brooms, or both. Have deducted a total of 9,592 House Points and it only seems to instigate them further. Will never have children. Never, ever. Ever. Will be so glad when back in London for good. Must get ready for Leaving Feast.

**7:15 P.M. Ignoring the fact that Feast started some fifteen minutes ago.**

Retract last sentence of previous entry. Do not want to go to Leaving Feast, as this would acknowledge fact that am leaving Hogwarts' for good and will have to face real world. No. Will stay here. Will insist on redoing Seventh Year again as am not ready to be thrown out into the cruel streets of the world like a newborn babe being thrown into jungle coated with honey as to be more appeasing to carnivores. Can't go. Not Ready. Perhaps after feast, can just pop in loo and stay there until Hogwarts' Express is long and gone then just refuse any other attempts at forcing me back to London?

**9:30 P.M. On Hogwart's Express.**

Who bloody cares about winning the House Cup? Does anyone realize my distress? Have just been viciously ripped from the comforting womb of Hogwarts'. Who knows what will happen now. Will meet parents at King's Cross. Will be ushered into childhood home where will remain until end of days as have nothing else to look forward to. If lucky, maybe people will still remember me in years to come.

"Oi, what ever happened to that girl we used to know, back at Hogwarts'?" Harry or Ron will say. Who actually says it will not matter as they will both be equally successful in life, love, and wealth and I will be some old bag lady asking for spare change outside the coffee house while talking to self.

"What was her name?" They will ask, racking their memories in a desperate attempt to remember, but to no avail except when they recall savage creature that lived upon head. "Oh, Hair Girl. Wonder what became of her?" Both will shrug in unison before continuing successful lives as if I had never existed.

Sigh.

**Midnight. **

Ermph. Never realized how much I hated this room. Suppose only having to put up with it on holidays with the knowledge of going back to Hogwarts soon made it possible to look over fact that room is painted pale yellow with horrid little flowers like great aunt's Sunday dress only to be lined with midget bookcases topped with horribly frightening pale dolls with various fashion plates and fixed grins. Feel like crying as have suddenly realized that there is nothing in room reminiscent of self, just scattered belongings Mum has placed in room since birth so she can pretend she has normal child.

Miss friends so much. Wonder if could just Apparate over to the Burrow for a bit, just pop in and pop out?

** June 13, Tuesday **

**8:00 a.m **

Woke up and went downstairs, just in time to have morning tea with Mum and Dad before seeing them off to work. Morning owl came in through the open patio window, barely brushing Mum's perfectly concocted bun of hair sealed with a can of hair spray. Of course, she went into panic mode: standing up and waving her arms and hands frantically while stomping and making high pitched squeals simultaneously, which believe it or not, is very similar to the fertility dance of the Nigerian tribe as seen on a BBC documentary. Could see Dad muffling laughter by means of making bubbles in his tea, and couldn't help but laugh.

"Hermione, it isn't funny!" Mum had protested, finally taking her seat at the table again. "Those things are absolutely horrid. I suppose I just don't understand. If you're _people" _she said this with a slight tone of disdain, as if they were all my fault, "are so sophisticated, why can't they use the post like the rest of us."

Didn't bother responding, as Dad had noticed the impending situation and decided it better to rush her out of the house than to let me unleash my hair on her.

Found myself sifting through the mail, tossing aside the Daily Prophet to find another twenty or so letters, one of which was from the Ministry's Ludicrous Patents Office practically begging me to come fill a top level position, ignoring the fact that I am straight out of school and have no work experience. Not to say that the Ludicrous Patents Office wouldn't offer me a life of glamour and excitement, but it's just not my forte. Couldn't bear going through a number of other brochure-type job offers, and simply marched upstairs and put them in my trunk along with the other three hundred or so. So you see, my problem with a job, or lack thereof, isn't that there aren't any offers, its simply that I cant imagine dedicating my life to one position for the next fifty years until I either keel over from absolute boredom or finally get to redeem my pension when on my 75th birthday. As far as I can tell, finding an occupation is much like getting married. You don't simply want to run out and get engaged to the first chap you see in fear of going home and waking up a few mornings later to find that you're stuck in holy matrimony with an overweight, Quidditch obsessed jerk who thinks his used underwear will simply blend in with the carpet like camouflage if left long enough, thus shouldn't be worried with.

**3:00 p.m. **

Have wondered around the house sheepishly all day, laying about here and there in hopes of somehow being inspired about what to do about job or Professor Lupin situation, as both are of equal importance. Perhaps will just pop over at the Burrow for a bit and see what friends are up to.

**3:15 p.m **

Must remember to work on Apparation etiquette as cannot simply be appearing in peoples kitchens unannounced. Went to Burrow to find it very empty with the exception of a blushed looking Mr. and Mrs. Weasley who were caught in an embrace that would have been embarrassing if it were anyone else, but instead, it just simply explains why they have so many children. They explained that everyone was gone as they were helping Neville move in and proceeded to give me instructions as can't Apparate to a place am not familiar with.

**4:00 p.m Neville's flat. **

Walked up Chapel St. in downtown London past a nightclub called "Catch" to find Ginny waving at me madly from a few windows up. As she rushed down the stairs to open the door for me, I noticed the tell-tale signs of a wizard's encounter with the device that allows one to buzz you in (scorch marks, etc., etc.). Upon entering flat, was so jealous, could hardly congratulate a humble looking Neville. Is so unfair. Okay, not really unfair as Neville says he has been laboring in gardens since his Third Year in order to pay for it. In fact, am actually very proud of Neville. He has come very far from his days as chubby little boy who pees his trousers every time Professor Snape was mentioned. To be honest, thought Ginny was nutters when she admitted was attracted to him when she dated him for a short period of time as even then she was just prepubescent sexpot, but now realize she may be giving Trelawney a run for her money as far as the Inner Eye goes.

Can simply see it now: Ginny's hair covered by gold turban (comparable to something that would be seen adorning a window in Her Magesty's Bedroom) with equally gaudy gold bracelets, necklaces, and hoop earrings big enough to make dogs jump through as party trick.

"Ah, yes." She will say in eerie voice. "Neville is hot, has great job and flat. You're jobless, in love with your former Professor, and living in your childhood bedroom with no plan for future." Will look at her with raised eyebrow as already know all of this and she will respond simply. "That will be five Galleons, please"


	6. June 14th

** June 14, Wednesday **

**Midnight. Back in bedroom.**

Was having dinner with the parents, when Mum forced a nasty looking gravy on my plate, insisting that I eat.

"You know," Mum had said, "Therma Prattle's daughter is starting her first semester at Cambridge this semester."

Knew this was coming, and the fact that she was going to start wishing I was more like Amanda Prattle made matters even worse. A little background information: Therma and Mum were best friends through and through, or so they claimed even though they only made passive aggressive conversation in the form of subtle insults whenever they saw each other. Mum claims that Amanda was my best friend all the way through grade school even though I have no recollection of this friendship. Although, I do recall Amanda giggling every time she called me Bobby for years after she put gum in my hair, thus forcing my parents to give my mane a real chop job leaving me looking like a bookish little boy, especially when placed side by side with Amanda's perfect blonde curls in dainty ponytails.

Mum had patiently waited for a response and evidently couldn't take it anymore. "So have you decided what you're going to do with you're life yet?"

The usual clatter of forks and chewing stopped and all eyes went on me. Was put on the spot and felt as if I should break out with song or dance, but only managed a shrug. Mum starred at me in disbelief for a good minute.

"So we sent you to this school where you do God knows what, and after seven years, you have nothing to show for it?"

"I have plenty to show for it. I'm just not sure what I want to do yet." I said rather grumpily.

She huffed, "You're a bright girl, Hermione. It's just that their curriculum was ridiculous, they didn't even have a proper chemistry lab!"

Was thoroughly irritated and decided to make a point. Took wand out of pocket and pointed it at the table.

_"Reducio!"_ Causing entire table and contents to shrink to the size of fist.

"How's that for chemistry?" I said smugly before marching outside.

Dad, in mid bite, simply swallowed and formed a smirk before turning his attention to my Mum, awaiting a response.

"Hermione!" My mother screeched, storming after me, "That's my good china. Come back here, right this instant and turn it back!"

"No." I had said.

Had apparated to Neville's flat, as it was the first place to come to mind. Felt quite rude as appeared in middle of living room, but certainly couldn't be expected to make a scene by Apparating out of thin air into the middle of the sidewalk causing children to stare and conspiracy theories to be confirmed. Fortunately, Neville was very nice about it, saying that he understood. No one else was there, as they were all at the Burrow eating supper with nice, normal family and felt pang of guilt for Neville. Suppose he didn't have much of a family, considering his parents had the mental capacity of drooling babies and his Gram, according to him, had a rather unpleasant demeanor. After inspecting his rather empty refrigerator, we decided to introduce ourselves to the neighborhood by checking out a diner around the corner.

Over a well made BLT (suppose it's hard to not to make one right, but like to give credit where it's due) we discussed many things, including jobs (his at the Chelsea Physic Gardens and my lack of one) and he even revealed his rather cute crush on Ginny Weasley whereupon I felt rather obligated to exchange my crush.

"Really? On Professor Lupin? Isn't he well, a bit old?"

I sighed, "It's not about age."

"Does he know?"

At this point, proceeded to tell him all the gory details of the Horrible Friday Night Of Embarassment where I had to stop several times and beg him to stop laughing.

"I'm not laughing _at you."_ He tried to explain, pausing to come up with an excuse, "Okay, well perhaps I am, but it's your own fault. I really can't imagine you dressed up like some tart and throwing yourself at a Professor."

"I was young and naïve!" I protested.

"It was hardly two months ago!"

Point taken.

**12:05 a.m.**

Could really use a midnight snack. Perhaps can just sneak downstairs

**12:10 a.m.**

Bloody Hell. Just chipped tooth on stale candy. Pain is excrutiating. Am going to die. Have two dentists in next room but can't wake them in fear of Mum's wrath. Screw you, irony.

**12:15 a.m.**

Shit, shit, shit. Shit.

**12:30 a.m.**

Very well might be first fatality caused by chipped tooth. Perhaps will just lie in middle of street and hope double decker bus puts me out of misery.

**12:35 a.m.**

Suicide over tooth doesn't sound very brave. Supposed to be Gryffindor. Right. Perhaps, I can just do something about this myself.

**Noon Recovering in bed.**

So much for being brightest witch of my year. Figured that simple _Repairo_ spell should work on tooth, but didn't take into account that chipped tooth caused temporary speech impediment. Long story short, ended up in bathroom with wand pointed at mouth, expecting a quick and easy repair, but instead of _Repairo_, casted _Reffero_, which turns out to be very similar to an engorging charm. Thus, head swelled to the size of a giant watermelon and every attempt at a reversal caused even worse results. By the time Mum and Dad had woken up from all the commotion, they found me with a head larger than the doorframe, covered in warts, the color purple, and a tail dangling from my arse which Crookshanks promptly commensed to happily playing with, as though had done all this especially for him. Dad finally managed to calm Mum down and through a horrible game of charades (as by that point, could not talk at all as mouth was swollen and tongue was not), convinced him to get me a pen and paper, where I had scrawled out that I needed them to contact the Weasleys, as they were my only hope. Thank god for owls and their eerie sense of ESP as one was happily waiting downstairs, perched on top of the fridge and took my S.O.S. straight away. Within the hour, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, Ron and Harry, were all in the hallway outside the upstairs bathroom. Mrs. Weasley, not nearly surprised as she should have been given my current state (then again, she had raised Fred and George), bustled about reversing all the charms within a matter of minutes, before giving me a kiss on the forehead and saying "Good as new." Granted, still had tooth ache, but considered it the least of my problems. After everyone was gone, had small heart-to-heart with Mum where she acknowledged the fact that I was simply choosing carefully before jumping headfirst into a career and I returned our dining room table to normal size. Come 8, she promptly took me down to her office and put a cap on my tooth which gave her a sense of necessity.

Very tired. Need sleep.


	7. June 15th

** June 15, Monday **

**10:00 a.m. **

Really need to go downstairs and find tape so can wrap it around my head in manner of Christmas present. Some may see this as odd, but there is actually a very logical reason as follows: so when Mum traps me in a corner and tutors me in the fine art of bath towel folding _again_, the little bits won't go flying everywhere when head suddenly explodes. Simple matter of cleanliness, really. Must get out of the house. Will go over to the Burrow and remind self what nice, normal family is like.

**3:00 p.m.**

Upon arrival, Penelope Clearwater was in the living room with her tummy swollen and hands on her back bracing herself. Looked as if she had simply stuffed large pillows under robes, but with Percy's sudden gain of confidence that was surely there if only because Penelope's swollen stomach and maternity robes were undisputable evidence of his sex life, doubted the pillow theory could hold its own. Tried the chit chat thing and found that I had absolutely nothing in common with a woman three years my senior who has already decided that being a medi-witch's assistant _in training _is the closest thing to a career she will ever need as she would much rather prefer sitting at home knitting socks and raising snot nosed children while her husband, a dignified brown-noser for the ministry, brings home the bacon. Who would have thought? Was very relieved when Ginny appeared and dragged me outside in mid breath intake before I went into full rant mode. Felt very hypocritical about Penelope's reliance on her male counterpart when Ginny informed me that Professor Lupin had stopped by to see Harry earlier in the morning. Of course, her mother had informed him that he looked like a bag of bones and would be present for dinner whether he liked it or not so it would be best if he cancelled any previous engagements. Love Mrs. Weasley. Didn't even bother saying goodbye, simply apparated with a tell tale crack back to my bedroom. Sure Ginny will understand. Only have three hours to perform some kind of miracle. Must manage to look sexy, but not tartish, mature, but not in manner of menopause all in an effort as to somehow reverse effects from Firday Night of Embarrassment. Perhaps will even bring purse as carrying a purse is somehow a sign of womanhood. Used to carry purses when I was a child, yes, but the insides were only filled with crayons in order to mark my territory (restaurant tables, walls, tapestry, etc., etc.) whenever saw fit. Will fill purse with womanly things such as… Am simply not feminine enough. Know Ginny always carries around a brush, but the thing upon my head is where hair brushes go to die. Through out rogue after run in with Ron in the Great Hall so have no Muggle cosmetics to fit smugly into mature woman like purse less the miniature hot pink lipstick and matching nail polish that received for birthday when seven (and still, sadly, in the drawers of the vanity somewhere as could no leave them _completely _empty) still count. Hmm, must work on becoming more feminine. Turn creature on top of head into flowing mane of elegantly wound curls and the like, perhaps do something about breasts, or rather, lack thereof.

**6:00 p.m.**

Bloody shit. In three hours time, have accomplished absolutely nothing. Am naked except for towel with nothing to wear as while was in shower, wardrobe was consumed by bulimic monster who suddenly felt fat and regurgitated contents in manner of small but very specific natural disaster.

**6:30 p.m.**

Am late and only have one bloody shoe. Where is my other shoe?

**6:37 p.m.**

Alright. _Accio shoe!_ managed to cause every other shoe in possession that weren't needed (boots, sandals, mules, really hard to tell as they were flying at me at mach speeds) only to hit the wall, leaving particularly nasty marks. But did find silver lining in form of other shoe, hoorah. Will deal with wall later.

**7:30 p.m. Does it really matter? Am in love.**

Unfortunately, lack of punctuality was punished quite harshly as was seated by Penelope as was only available seat. Couldn't I have been seated next to troll or ill tempered house elf? Certainly would have been better than having Penelope lecture me on the necessity of finding a proper husband before biological clock gave up and crocked as she gorged herself with mashed potatoes as if they were a proper substitute for oxygen. Fortunately, Professor Lupin had been seated diagonally from me, allowing me to sneak glances over bites of ham as everyone else was engulfed in conversation. Thus, provoking fantasies about those corduroy trousers and a button up shirt that left me creating a small mathematical equation in head to figure out how many seconds of attention each button would require before…

Train of thought had been permanently derailed when eyes wondered up that shirt only to meet the Professor's stare and his signature raised eyebrow. Had been caught mid fantasy. Considered a memory charm, apparating to the nearest cliff in order to jump off and everything in between. Sure, worse things have happened (a particular Friday night comes to mind), but Penelope's attempts to recruit me into the Settle For Any Chap And Procreate As Soon as Possible Club combined with the embarrassment was too much to handle. But thankful couldn't even describe what I felt for the child bearing, mashed potato stuffing woman when she decided it was at this point in time that she should demand Percy to fetch some jalapeno peppers to go in her curry with a disturbingly determined pounding of her fist against the table. Fetch, Percy, fetch.

"Oh, look at the time." I declared in a high pitched voice that reminded me far too much of my Mother's, as Percy rushed off in the direction of the kitchen. "Really must be going." I continued, squeezing my way past Ginny, Harry and Ron who have all thought I was mad from the get go.

Stomped outside into the garden, preparing to apparate back to the hellhole that is my parent's house but not before properly introducing my palm to my face. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

"You're hardly stupid." A voice declared from behind me. Was Professor Lupin. Heart jumped out of chest and scrambled off somewhere under the bushes as couldn't handle the excitement, but hardly cared. "As I recall, I've personally told you otherwise. Brightest witch of your year, or something along those lines. Nothing you haven't heard before."

Oh, that voice. Love it. Not silk smooth like French male breathing heavily into ear with foul cigarette breath as he fumbles with bra hook (don't want to talk about it), but not harsh and rough like Moodys where it could be sworn that he gargles with charcoal every morning simply for effect. It's simply Lupin.

"Anyway, I don't mean to keep you. I simply noticed you left this behind." At which point he handed me my little purse, but not before weighing it in his hand, "You must travel light." He said with a smirk. Of course, purse was empty. Bringing it was important, but failed to decide on contents before coming to dinner.

Wanted to say something witty, remarkably funny, but all that managed to come out was a weak "Thank you." After a small pause, he turned around to leave, as did I. Took every bit of self control to not tackle him like a thuggish rugby player, hold him down while confessing my adoration and beg him to whisk me off to his flat where we could live happily ever after in manner of modern fairy tale (or at least have a good shag, am very sexually frustrated and him wearing those trousers aren't helping the situation), but reminded self that I must retain some amount of dignity as most had been lost where the Professor had been concerned. As prepared to apparate to the hellhole that is my parents' house, saw him turn around with a smile and say "My invitation for the World Cup still stands." Looked quite surprised, as he must have noticed as he added quite cheekily, "I won't bite. Full moon isn't for a few more weeks"

Was so shocked that concentration was faltered and ended up apparating into parents bedroom to witness the beginning of what could have been the conception of a younger sibling. Am considering performing memory charm on self, but don't want to risk losing memory of Lupin and that cheeky smile. Am so giddy that am going to absolutely explode if I don't tell someone right away. Can't exactly go downstairs, sit Mum and Dad at the table and explain from the start:

"Well, you see, there's this boy. Actually, he's not a boy as he's very near 40, and happens to be a werewolf as well as a former Professor, but I see past that, you know? He's actually quite intelligent, very kind, and very shaggable if I do say so my self. The only problem is he thinks I'm a complete twit, but rightly so, as on a whim, I decided to dress up in a manner very similar to a school girl meets prostitute and throw myself at him, but that was silly, of course. Oh no, of course he refused my advances. Well, actually, I'm not very sure. Was very embarrassed as while I was in a skirt with a hem up to my ears, he came out with cleaning supplies, so I ran off. But then tonight, he offered me to share his tent. Very complicated indeed."

Simply won't do. Perhaps will pop over to Neville's and see if he's off work yet.

**Midnight**

Neffile is vury funny, but I do lurve Lupin, I do! Urmph, fell off chair. Sleepy. Beddy time.


	8. June 16th & 17th

** June 16, Tuesday **

Feel like poo. Last night, had apparated over to Neville's only to find him looking quite depressed in his work clothes, reeking of fertilizer and surrounded by a mountainous terrain consisting of empty take-out boxes and bottles of Glady's Butterbeer. Although some posh artist from New York or the like could have swooshed in and declared it a breathtaking piece of urban art, it was hardly the atmosphere where proper attention could be focused on Lupin's trousers and my World Cup dilemma, so sonvinced Neville to hop into shower as he stunk rather badly, and took him downstairs to Catch.

Let's make something very clear. Am rather accustomed to talking portraits, staircases that change out of boredom, but can not fathom the shoes stylish Muggle women wear. As a general rule of thumb, I for one try not to wear anything with heels longer than my forearm but these girls apparently hadn't gotten the same memo. Very cruel as upon entering Catch, not only felt horribly drab wearing slacks and a zip up in various shades of grey while these women, three feet taller than I (hadn't known they were cheating for the longest) pranced around in frilly little things in every color of the rainbow while their cleavage (once again, they must be cheating as for all them to have such large breasts is not mathematically possible) practically leaped out with every step they took. By the time Neville and I had been seated, previous decision to remain sober was nullified as had developed severe inferiority complex concerning height since walking through the door.

"Corduroy." I had slurred, sipping on my third glass of merlot.

"What?" Neville had asked, pouring himself another glass as he was far too sober to fully appreciate my words of wisdom.

"Lupin's pants tonight, they were corduroy and positively delicious."

"So what makes his trousers any different from, let's say, mine or any other chap's?"

"Yours aren't on his bum."

"I see."

"Nothing personal."

"Of course."

"More wine?"

"Definitely."

"So what about this World Cup thing?"

"Do you not still despise Quidditch or has something dramatically changed?"

"Well yes, it's a ridiculous sport, really. But don't you think there's a chance that we might end up over a candlelight dinner with him comparing my eyes to a dessert?"

Neville laughed, "Your eyes with a dessert? Like sherbert?"

"I was thinking Chocolate Mousse, really."

"I suppose there's a _chance. _Although there's also a chance that the former Dark Lord himself might escape his present state and replace that barmaid over there with leather stilettos and all."

"That's the spirit! Then it's settled, I'm going. More wine, please?"

After that, all was a blur of wine glasses, silly girls flinging themselves over Neville and trying to figure out how to get myself home as Mum would certainly have a fit if she woke up and wasn't there. Apparation was not an option as was so sloshed could hardly walk, never the less able to concentrate enough to end up in my room in one piece. An unauthorized portkey was out of the question, couldn't stomach a ride on the Floo Network, thus, finally ended up on the Knight's Bus with Stan Shunpike trying to cope a feel every time the bus came to a halt.

**Noon**

Perhaps should start packing. Only 4 more days. Well, three and a half if one were to be technical about it, which I'm not, of course.

**12:15 p.m.**

Not really in the mood to pack, have plenty of time for that. Must tell Ginny the news as she will surely be equally delighted as I.

**5:30 p.m.**

Crookshanks, although love him dearly, is a horrid, wretched thing sometimes. Ginny apparently used Ron's little owl to send her reply and Crookshanks, having not been let out in fear of him confronting a car and not having the proper sense to back down to a component made of steel, thought Pidwegon was just a lovely treat for him and promptly batted around the poor thing like it was a rag doll. Granted, charmed as many feathers back on to the creature as possible, but doubt it will be quite as willing to deliver posts to my house in the near future. Stupid cat. Anyway, am going over to the Burrow to catch up on quality time with Harry, Ron and Ginny as Harry and Ron will be shipped off to Auror training and Ginny will be back on the Hogwarts' Express in a matter of weeks and I shall be left practically friendless.

** June 17, Wednesday **

**9:30 a.m.**

Hmm, that's odd. Usually Crookshanks is sleeping in my room and when went downstairs to feed him, he was no where to be found despite the fact that the sound of cat food rustling against the bag is like a mating call. Perhaps he is just pissy as I sent his playtoy back to the Burrow yesterday and scolded him quite harshly. Sure he will turn up.

**9:50 a.m.**

Alright, have searched the entire house from floor to ceiling and Crookshanks is not here. Am very worried. Perhaps he snuck outside when Mum and Dad went to work and is wounded after a confrontation with heavy machinery that he did not win, or even worse, what if he simply can't stand me anymore? Must go look some more.

**10:30 a.m.**

Look like hysterical woman with puffy eyes and mad hair. Have gone up and down the street calling his name and surely, if he were able to, he would come. What if he's dead? Dear god can't handle this. Argh, door.

**10:35 a.m.**

Was Harry of all people. Evidently he wanted to get out of the Burrow for the bit and decided to pop in. Told him about Crookshanks and he simply couldn't resist but taking one look at the mad creature atop my head (as obviously haven't had time to fix self this morning as missing familiar is surely a more pressing matter) and asking "Have you checked there?" How bloody funny. He is currently wandering around the street calling "kitty" as to remain in my good graces while I try to regain my composure. Really wish I wasn't so horrid to Crookshanks. Perhaps if hadn't scolded him, he would of stayed inside, and wouldn't have met an untimely demise and would have lived to a ripe old age of two hundred and four. It's all my fault.

**12:30 a.m.**

My mother is absolutely insane. She had come home on lunch break to drop Crookshanks off as she had had him all along! He is alive, but hardly unscathed.

After saying hello to Harry, she plopped a cat carrier down on the kitchen floor. "Well darling, he's a bit drowsy after the operation so just let him be for the afternoon." She had said.

"What operation?" I asked, opening the door to the carrier and pulling out my cat. "You had my cat, my _familiar _fixed? Oh my god, where is his hair?"

"Oh, that."

"Yes, that! What happened to his hair?"

"Simple matter of miscommunication really. The girl at the desk was new, could hardly speak a word of English. Tried to explain that I just wanted them to cut off a few of the knots he had gathered under his tail, but well, you can see what she thought I meant."

Sat down holding my poor, drugged, and unpleasantly bald cat in absolute horror.

"Well," she sighed, "I was only trying to help."

**A/N: Wow. I can't even begin to thank you guys for all of your wonderful reviews (especially LeGrimoire, cdk, amariel, radclifferox for being ever so faithful. I keep you guys in mind every time I post.) I started out writing this as a total spoof and considered abandoning more than once, but you lot have seriously inspired me. The last chapter got more focus on Lupin (for RadcliffeRox, ewanspaz and the rest of you who were thinking it, but didn't say anything) and last but least, the World Cup is coming up. Hoorah. **


	9. June 18th & 19th

**June 18, Thursday**

**8:00 a.m.**

Poor Crookshanks. Poor _naked _Crookshanks. It seems he is very aware of his lack of fur as he has taken to hiding underneath the bed less the occasional bathroom break (the last of which was in Mum's Prada bag, as he is not taking the trip to the vet lightly). Sigh, will let him be and simply go pack.

**Noon**

Okay, so haven't packed much (by much, mean nothing, of course) but on the bright side, have managed to rearrange sock drawer and catch a marvelously fascinating three hours of soaps on the tele (can't believe Samantha tried to kill Greg all the while being his father in drag _and _having an illegitimate child with his wife thus causing Greg to raise his brother as his own. _Simply amazing_.)

Oooh, either someone just apparated or Crookshanks is breaking Mum's china. Must go inspect.

**3:00 p.m.**

Was Ron and Harry who both sat on the couch and proceeded to tell me how Ginny had gone bonkers. But it must be understood that they're only boys, thus can't be expected to comprehend why Ginny started her day by adding Chocolate Frogs to her omelet or why telling her that the robes she wore in her First Year were too small (even if they did barely reach her knees) was a horribly bad idea. But to Ginny's credit, all that time she spent playing Quidditch and developing her upper arm strength wasn't a complete waste as the bruise covering the majority of Ron's left arm is evident of this fact.

We sat around for a bit, and was thoroughly pleased to find that they quickly took to indulging in my new found guilty pleasure (soaps, of course).

"No, you see, Greg is actually his father."

"So Greg is his father _and _shagging his wife?"

"Oh, and don't forget that Greg sometimes dresses up as a woman and goes by Vicky only to seduce his best mate."

"Bloody brilliant."

Sadly, around 2 or so, beloved soaps were replaced by some ragged old woman ranting about the brutality of carbohydrates and our conversation quickly turned to World Cup.

"Can you believe it? We're going to be in our seats right in middle of the field in a mere-"

"Forty one hours and twenty three minutes" I had mumbled, taking another sip out of my tea.

"Glad to see you're finally coming around to Quidditch, it's going to be great!" Ron had said, giving my back a slug with his fist. Obviously, the female back muscles aren't equipped to handle such abuse as I practically spit the liquid through my nose. Meanwhile, Harry looked at me suspiciously.

"You hate Quidditch."

"No I don't."

"Yes you do."

"Let's just say I have a new found interest in the sport."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Then who's playing?"

Cursed myself as had heard the team names a thousand times. "Erm. The Chudley Cannons."

"And?"

Bit lip as had no proper response but was saved by saint in the form of an eager Ron, "The Braga Broomfleet." Harry sighed as this had ended his Quidditch Inquisition, but Ron simply looked at me, "You knew that."

"Mhmm. Of course. The Braga Broomfleet."

**June 19, Friday**

**Noon**

Hoorah! In the matter of a few hours, will be comfortably inside Remus Lupin's tent sharing a bottle of Chardonnay while he compares my eyes to Chocolate Mousse.

Bloody shit, must really start packing. Am supposed to be at the Burrow within the hour to catch a portkey.

**12:45 p.m.**

Shit, shit, shit. Should really have started packing earlier. Had suitcase open, and really couldn't think what to take. Was going to pack grey zip up, but simply seemed dull so left it in closet. Same to black slacks, usual flats, and everything else usually wore. Decided that tiny knickers were in order if not only as a hygienic necessity but in preparation for night of terrific shagging. Thus, searched frantically for tiny knickers before realizing that only had one pair (was bought in a moment of weakness with Ginny at Diagon Alley's version of Frederick's of Hollywood). Of course, can't find tiny knickers, so the usual will have to suffice.

Thus far, have packed:

_Hogwart's: A History_ (which isn't even necessary as will surely be too preoccupied with the kind Professor to read)

One pair of black socks

Two pairs of large, ungodly knickers popular with grandmothers the world over.

Stressed, _so stressed_. Supposed to meet everyone at the Burrow to catch a portkey in five minutes. What else can one pack that isn't drab and boring? Shoes. Must pack shoes. Men like heels, right? Of course they do.

**1:30 p.m.**

Apparated into the living room of the Burrow with my dreadfully large suitcase only fifteen minutes late. Thus, thought a pat on the back was well deserved as punctuality has not been my best asset, but an eager looking Ron resembling a Chudley Cannon merchandise rack obviously begged to differ. To say that the living room was crowded is only comparable to saying that Voldemort was only slightly irritable due to an ingrown toenail that had been pestering him for several years. Really can never get used to seeing so much red hair at the same time (have always considered Mr. and Mrs. Weasley an Adam and Eve in their own right: populating the world with red headed children one at a time.) Ginny, Ron, Harry, George, Fred, Percy, Penelope, Bill, Fleur, the Mr. and Misses, and I had managed to make it to the moore via a portkey in the shape of a broken dish which is a miracle in itself.

Was immediately surrounded by rabid Quidditch fans with painted faces smelling of skank beer and wild children running around spanking their arses while riding on play brooms and screaming obscenities. It was at this point considered turning around, finding the box filled with used portkeys and hoping to find the broken dish (truth be told, would have settled for whatever portkey touched hands first as ending up in the heart of the jungle facing off with an animal who only saw me as dinner would have been better than drunken Portuguese man grabbing my arse upon arrival.) Thankfully, Knight in Shining Armor or rather Professor in Chudley Cannon Jersey shooed his way through the crowd and led us towards his tent. Was rather optimistic at first as from first glance, tent was rather small. In fact, was so small could have easily fit in the kitchen at home. Thus, was optimistically hoping that the large tent that had been expected was in the shop, burnt to the ground, etc., etc. therefore would require all the Weasley's to sleep outside while yours truly shared the single bed as he would never leave a poor girl out in the cold. Of course, optimism is overrated as upon stepping into tent, found that it was the size of Grimmauld Place sans nasty portraits and dim lighting. Instead, there was a large living room and a spiral staircase leading at least three floors up.

Having noticed my disappointment with stairs (cleverly disguised as interest), the kind Professor says, "There are plenty of rooms to go around. Didn't think I'd make you bunk with me, did you?" Well, was hoping on it, to be quite honest. But as to be expected, was guided to my room on the second floor and told that would be rooming with Ginny. Hmph.

**2:00 p.m.**

Am very disgruntled over rooming situation as love Ginny dearly, but the girl snores horribly. Decided to dig into suitcase and drown self in _Hogwarts': A History_ only to find that what should have been an empty suitcase (less a 700 page book and two pairs of ungodly knickers) had been replaced by neatly folded lingerie and robes that I suspect are worth more than the Malfoy's. Where have my giant knickers gone? Oh god, think am about to find out.

**2:07 p.m.**

Followed screeching sounds out into hallway only to find Fleur, Professor Lupin, and Bill. Upon further inspection, see that Fleur was holding giant knickers on full display in all their glory.

"My clothes zis gone. I opened ze zuitcase, and I find zis. I don't understand, is zis a parachute? Zor a hat of some sort? Perhaps ze are full body stocking?"

"They're knickers." I said as quietly as possible, causing Bill and the Professor to both muffle laughs.

"No, no. Ze are not knickers. Ze are far too large."

Quickly snatched them and rolled them into a ball. "Well." I huffed, "They're not my favorite pair."

**8:00 p.m.**

Declined invitations to explore the grounds with Harry, Ron and Ginny as am still quite embarrassed concerning knicker display. Dared to come out for dinner only to find that Fluer, who has never been able to remember my name, thinks it is quite amusing to refer to me as "Ze girl with ze gigantic panties" whenever she sees fit (i.e., "Ze girl with ze enormous knickers, can you pass ze butter?") Was much happier when she simply called me Alice. Really would apparate home right now if it wasn't for the fact that have been invited to a pre-game get together of sorts for the adults. Being invited to such an event is like going to a family get together and finding that for the first time ever, you _don't _have to sit at the kiddy table with the toddlers who insist on covering their faces with food rather than simply eating it (Mum says I have never gotten along well with children, even when was one myself). Am very excited, although can't bask in glory of being acknowledged as a mature, independent witch as Ginny is the only one not old enough to attend and is quite sour about the ordeal.

Here comes the dreaded A/N:

This entire story has been so fun for me because it's a combination consisting of equal parts of HP, Bridget Jones (no originality with either one of those, of course), and self admittedly, my life (as some of the things mentioned are very, very close to home.) But I must admit, I've been dreading writing about the World Cup as you lot seem to have actually looked forward to it and I have a constant fear of disappointing you (psych majors can read into that as you wish). Fear not, I have actually started it and will finish it- eventually. Let's just hope its sooner than later.

Now, only if I could find a beta. How great would that be?


	10. June 20th

**June 20, Saturday**

**7:00 a.m. In bloody Quidditch stadium.**

This weekend was supposed to consist of the Professor comparing my eyes to chocolate mousse and my lips to ruby coloured cushions of lust (or something along those lines).

So why, oh cruel deities, was I just led into the Quidditch stadium like a sheep being led to the slaughter, only to be stuck next to Penelope and some boy equipped with a Chudley Cannons noisemaker (which he only stops so he can drop it and try to peek up my skirt when he goes to pick it up). Am being punished- that's the only plausible answer.

Head i _still /i _hurts something wicked from last night. Speaking of which, should really learn not to drink around love prospects as increases chances of making ass out of self from "probable" to "most definite."

Last night, Ginny was very disappointed considering that she was told she would be staying in and would not, under any circumstances, be leaving the tent unless she wanted to live out the rest of the summer in the form of a flobberworm. After all logical arguments eluded her; Ginny took to sitting on the spiral staircase and stomping her feet as she screamed at Molly for not conceiving her a year earlier.

Felt horrible leaving Ginny behind. By the time I had managed to unwrap her grip from my calf and ignore her pleas to stay, everyone else had already gone and my attempts to catch up had been dampened by my less than practical choice for shoes (heels. Men like heels, yes. But they are hardly one to keep up in the muddy terrain of the Moore).

Had obviously overestimated the logical placement of tents as quickly found myself quite lost and rounding the same set of tents for the third time. With no sight of Harry, Ron, the Professor, or anyone slightly familiar, was thoroughly aggravated and determined to go back to the tent and make amends to Ginny if I could ever find my way back.

"What's wrong, darling?" a voice asked.

Was Knight In Shining Armor -- or rather, Woman Standing By A Floating Cart Of Drinks. She was an older woman, not exactly the bar wench type, and she reminded me a bit of Mrs. Weasley.

Harmless enough.

"I'm very lost, to be quite honest."

"Figured as much. Here, let's get you a drink and try to get you straightened out." The friendly, slightly plump woman pulled out a clear substance and poured it into a glass before adding a splash of red liquid.

"Alright. I don't need anything too strong. I'm a bit of a lightweight." I had confessed while looking at the drink terror. Many a night with vodka had taught me that clear alcohol was the worst.

"Of course. Why don't you give this a go?"

Took a sip, prepared for the onslaught of the tell-tale burning sensation that came along with alcohol but found none. "This is absolutely delicious. Are you sure it's alcoholic?"

"Only a tad. Now tell me what's wrong, child." She smiled. Lovely smile despite the fact that she was an oral hygienist's worst nightmare. Very sweet lady.

"Right. Well, I'm a bit lost. See, I was supposed to be out with my friends, Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter, but I'm wearing these ridiculous shoes and couldn't keep up. Here, I think I need one more."

She poured another. "There. Go on."

"So I couldn't keep up and now I'm horribly lost… What was I saying? Oh. I really need to find my friends, have you seen them? I think I might take just one more of those if you would be so kind."

"Of course. Harry Potter, you say? I think I might have heard something about him up the way. He's been quite a topic of news since he defeated You-Know-Who."

"Right. The Boy Who Lives and all that. Up that way, you say?" Attempting to point north but practically falling over in the process. Was a bit tipsy. "Fantastic! Think I can have just one more?"

"There you go."

"Mmm. 'Tis really good. You know that? You're such a sweet lady. Very, very sweet. But I really need to be on my way."

"That will be four galleons."

"Four galleons? For three drinks?"

"Four, actually. You didn't think they were free, did you? Four galleons. Pay before I notify the authorities." How could sweet old woman turn in price gouging monster?

"This is ridiculous! You were only nice to me so you could get me drunk and overcharge me!"

Had rather hoped my argument, filled with alcohol-induced hand gestures and all, would point out the error in her ways and cause her to quickly apologize before saying that I needn't worry about the four Galleons.

The woman took one look at me before cocking her head back and yelling, "Help! Help! This girl is stealing! Help!"

"Here, you daft old bat." Promptly pulled four Galleons out of my purse and threw them onto the cart.

The wicked woman smiled a toothless smile before pushing her cart the opposite direction. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Horrid woman. Will never trust old women with alcohol again. Very clever, they are.

Was lost, quite drunk, and holding shoes in hands as they were doing absolutely no good on feet. Figured the woman could have been lying about Harry but quite frankly, couldn't think of anything else to do. Thus, headed north in drunken stupor.

Had walked for ages. Was tired, but not nearly as irritated as should have been, considering the circumstances. Is rather easy to find beauty while wandering around a Moore full of people like lost calf when one has just ingested god knows how much alcohol in a very short amount of time.

"Oi there!"

Ignored the yell coming from group of drunken face-painted fans as they certainly weren't talking to me. "Oi!"

Turned around as they were being rather persistent. "Excuse me, are you talking to me?"

"Yes you, with the nice arse. Wanna come over and polish my broomstick?" One of them yelled, much to the amusement of his friends.

Was appalled, shocked even. Am mature, sensible witch who shouldn't be subjected to such talk.

Did they really think I had a nice arse?

Didn't have time to respond as a bright flash of orange swept in front of me and towards the cat-callers.

It was the Professor! He wasn't shouting, but speaking quite level with the boy. Judging from the face painted pervert's large eyes that never wavered from the wand Remus idly played with, he was sticking up for me in manner of very sexy, protective boyfriend. Very cute. After a few moments, the offending pervert obligingly walked towards me.

"Erm. Sorry for the 'polish my broomstick' remark. I honestly didn't mean anything by it."

"And the one about my arse?"

"Sorry about that one too."

"No, no, no. Did you mean it?"

The boy, who really couldn't have been much older than I, looked between the Professor and I for a moment before replying with, "Erm. Well, yes?"

"Really? I thought it looked a bit big in this skirt. You don't think so?"

"You look a bit short without shoes on and a shorter or longer hem would do nicely as I don't think that one in particular does you justice. But big? No."

"You're too nice. Well, the shoes, you see-"

"Hermione." The Professor interrupted. To be frank, had rather forgotten he was there.

"Right then, you're forgiven. Off you go." I said briskly. The boy nodded obediently and ran back to his friends. "Yes, Professor?"

"Please, it's Remus." He had managed to say between stifled laughs.

"What's so funny?"

"You do realize you're more than slightly inebriated and up to your ankles in mud?"

Looked down and confirmed what he had said. "Well yes, but I hardly think my lack of shoes is really that funny. Besides, I have them right-" Realized that was only carrying one shoe. "Bugger."

Remus didn't bother to stifle any laughter beyond that point. "Harry and Ron are worried about you. Come on."

"No, we can't! We have to go find my shoe!"

"You don't have another pair with you?"

"Actually, I don't. We really have to go find my shoe."

"Then I'll buy you another. We really must get back."

"No."

"What?"

"No. I don't want to walk all that way with bare feet."

"It didn't seem to bother you up until now."

"Right, then you went and pointed it out and now I'm most definitely aware of the mud squishing between my toes."

"Then clean off your feet."

"And then what? Put them back in the mud?"

Remus laughed. "What would you like me to do? Carry you?"

This is the story of how I was brought back to the tent on Remus Lupin's back.

**10:00 a.m. _Still _in bloody Quidditch Stadium. **

Ended up transfiguring the boy's noisemaker into a muffin before shoving it into Penelope's mouth, promptly making her shut up about how hot it was and how I would be a far more suitable wife if I would only put as much effort into becoming domestic as I did in reading or writing.

All right. So only imagined it, but surely fantasizing about it for more than three hours straight should count for something?

Bloody hell. The game is only halfway over. Suppose world is covered with asinine sports consisting of grown men in ridiculous outfits playing with large balls of some shape or another, but how can a stadium full of people be so seemingly captivated by it for such a long period of time? Sure, first half wasn't so bad. Managed to occupy self by counting red hairs on Ron's head as he had the honor of sitting right in front of me (unfortunately, every time he went to stand up and cheer would lose count and be forced to start the process all over again).

God, Remus is very sexy when he is watching Quidditch. He furrows his brow and concentrates on the players as if he should he ever dare to blink, they would fall from the sky and wind up in a helpless pile of bodies and brooms by the time he opens them.

Musn't think about that, though. Perhaps will count how many times Penelope complains about something.

**1:30 p.m.**

_Penelope complaint count: 2,457 Chudley Cannon wins: 1_

Am back in tent and have just finished packing. Luckily, tent-sized knickers are very easy to shove back into enormous suitcase so little to no effort was involved.

Ginny is still rather sore about leaving her last night, thus, haven't gotten the opportunity to go over the night's events in excruciating detail (or at least the bits I can actually remember). Suppose Neville will get quite an earful when arrive back at London, but honestly, will burst if I don't.

Ermph, someone knocking at door. Most likely Fleur attempting to return deflated hot-air balloon and claim them as another stray pair of knickers so she can feign sadness when assure her that have both pairs accounted for.

**1:50 p.m.**

Was Remus!

"Erm, I'm in a bit of a rush, but I was wondering if you are available any time next week?"

Hoorah! Couldn't seem too eager. "Next week, you say? Well, I have a full schedule of course." Lies, lies, lies. Schedule only consisted of eating, sleeping, and the occasional drinking binge with Neville.

"You live in London, so how about Wednesday at-"

"Sounds great!"

So much for not seeming eager.

"Wednesday at 8 in the Leaky Couldron?"

Nodded head.

"Right then. See you."

No more Quidditch. No more Fleur. Am Apparating back to London in a mere fifteen minutes _and _have a date with Remus Lupin.

Love life.

Have been very busy with important real life matters (namely work, a Christmas party and the dreaded hangover associated with it) so I hope this considerably longer chapter makes up for all of that. Thank you very much for all the beta offers. It's really amazing that all I had to do was ask and you lot came out in numbers (especially since I thought author note's were mostly for my personal amusement and highly doubted anyone read them). Makes me wonder what would happen if I posted a link to my Amazon wish list…

On to the more personal stuff:

_Emiphiste_- she gets first place because not only is she an awesome chick with an unusual amount of patience, but this fabulous grammar-nazi is also my beta and I have scars to prove it. Bravo!

_Lucidshard_- you're great, you don't need a reminder.

_Amariel_- you liked the bit about the parachute panties? Not terribly original on my part, but it I enjoyed it none the less.

_Cdk_- once again, a BJD classic but figured I had to wiggle it in there somehow. It was too good to pass up.

_ChaosChick3_- Well, I suppose granny panties aren't _that _bad (unless you're wearing them with pants that ride 3 inches lower than they do. Bad. Very Bad.)

_Jacksparrowspearl-_ You honestly wish he would just come in and sweep her off her feet? Sigh. You're not much fun. I bet you're the type that always reads the last page of a book before you begin it, too. Suppose I could write an alternate ending for you (Would be very short and consist of "Remus just swept me off feet.") if you really like.

Wyntermajik- Reading my fic caused your cousin to wet themselves. Hmm. Although I would love to take that as a compliment, I'm honestly worried about your cousin's general health and his/her lack of sex life if they persist. You might want to get them checked out.

And to all the one liners or those who I simply couldn't think of a witty reply, thank you!:

Lozfairy, CharmedLeoLvr, Lizzieangel90, wackoramaco87, MessedUpMadness, Ginny3000, RandomReviewer, Cookiedoughicecream, LauraNotLora, and Yapperz


	11. June 21st & 23rd

**June 21st, Sunday**

**10pm**

Was supposed to Apparate over to Neville's tonight, but as was walking out door Mum called out from sitting room.

"Hermione! Youre not going out tonight, are you? You just got in!"

Glanced at hand on door knob and decided it would be best to owl an apology to Neville later than suffer the wrath of a guilt trip (in fact, had optimistically hoped could nod yes to one or two things and sneak out the back but found that this was not the case).

Mum was sitting in the living room wearing one of her renowned pastel two piece sets with her legs crossed and her thin lips in an odd smile.

"Come sit." She had said, patting the cushion next to her on the couch. Dad must have been out. Sat down awkwardly trying to cross legs and manage perfect posture in manner of her, but failed miserably so settled for an ungraceful spread legged sprawl immediately causing Mother to look the other direction as if it was the most hideous thing she had ever seen.

Awkward silence. "So how have you been?"

Immediately realized Dad must be at the pub or preoccupying himself somewhere else outside the immediate vicinity of the house as she was succumbing to meddling in my life. Mum is not a rare social creature who finds busying herself with others' lives far more important than food, water, or oxygen. Without the social interaction and the ability to do such, she would most certainly shrivel up and die. In fact, this is why I am so prone to books. Found very early on in life that was much easier to feign interest in reading (before being actually literate) in order to avoid such interactions with mother and before long, found distraction method quite enjoyable. Thus, 'bookworm' was tattooed on my forehead for all to see.

Mum looked at me expectantly. "So, how have you been? Well?" She repeated.

Nodded yes. Obviously was not enough to sustain her until next opportunity to meddle so she proceeded to ask, "How was your football thing?"

"Quidditch?"

"What?"

"It was Quidditch, not football. There were men on brooms, no running involved."

Mum flinched slightly. She had never quite gotten used to the fact that there was this entire world hidden from her. Being an expert in gossip, she felt it was highly unfair that she hadn't heard of the wizarding world before her daughter, the bookish daughter of two dentists none the less, received a letter of acceptance from a wizarding boarding school.

"So, there were lots of boys there?"

"I suppose."

"You are interested in boys, aren't you?"

"Mother."

"What? You can't expect me not to wonder. You associate with two very eligible young men and yet haven't been on a proper date. When I was your age…"

"_Mother!"_

She huffed. "So you are interested in boys?"

She had no intention of giving up anytime soon, so decided to give her a run. "No." Had said with all sincerity as grabbed her hands and held them in mine. "I was going to wait to tell you this, but" took this moment to give a dramatic sigh, "I've met someone- another witch actually. She's gorgeous and her pudding is only second to yours. We're going to move in together, get monogrammed towels and adopt a child from Nigeria."

Mum's eyes were as wide as plates before it dawned on her that I had been reeking of sarcasm. She slapped me playfully on the arm.

"Hermione! You shouldn't say such things!" She squeeled before realizing that she had voted for the Labour Party and this was very politically incorrect. "Not that there's anything wrong with that of course, I simply think-"

"I know." Had stopped her.

"You know, the girls at the salon have been asking about you."

Shivered at thought of Mum's friends sitting underneath blow driers in matching pastel two pieces subtly attempting to up each other's stories on how much better each of their lives are.

"Perhaps you could come down there sometime," she continued as she began picking at my hair, "and we could do something about this mess."

Stood up. "Stop it!" Hate people touching hair. Hate it. Noted stairs leading towards solitary confinement of room and began moving towards it slowly- so slowly in fact, that hoped she wouldn't notice until had completely disappeared.

Was half way to the stairs when she called out "Well at least promise me you'll come to the dinner party at the Prattle's on Saturday!"

Nodded eagerly. Hate Amanda Prattle and her Mum's dinner parties but considered it a small penance to pay to get out of impromptu Mother-Daughter bonding session and began running up the stairs. Will meet Neville tomorrow for a _much _needed drink.

**June 23nd Tuesday**

**Noon.**

Bugger. Head hurts something horrid.

After one bottle of cheap merlot and over the initial glee of explaining date with Remus, Neville and I were discussing the important things while sitting on the floor in the middle of his flat.

"No, no, no. Divination is absolute rubbish!" had declared, waving wine glass in air.

"Well, personally, I think Arithmancy and Divination are along the same lines."

"Blasphemy!"

"Honestly, what's the difference?"

"Arithmancy is based on mathematical fact, while divination requires you to interpret your future through used tea leaves." Did best impression of looking at shoe in Trelawney like voice before declaring that had seen the Grim. "Honestly!"

Neville laughed, obviously unconvinced. Thus, felt the need to prove Arithmancy's reliability. Stood up and returned with quill and spare parchment.

"Let's see, we'll start out simple… Hermione's Hair plus Blush." Scribbled frantically, taking sips and explaining process as doing so. "Right, see, my hair is a 7, just like me. No coincidence there. In fact, it means my hair is quite the scholar." Neville giggled and poured more wine, "and Brush has a social number of a 5. This is right on because a 5 indicates conflict. Thus, a 7 social number and 5 social number and _very _incompatible. You see?"

Neville looked at the parchment and my scribbles then up to massive creature atop head as if this had actually convinced him.

"Do another." He had said.

Had mischievous grin on face as began to scribble. "Remus is a 7. You know, 7's are _very _compatable."

Neville almost doubled over. "Okay Lavender, can you bring Hermione back?"

"Shut up!" Had giggled, "But that's very hopeful. Hmm." Scribbled some more. "Since our date is falling on June 24, 1998 it's a 5 just like my stupid brush. Means instability and conflict. That doesn't sound very good, does it?"

Neville shrugged, and for a lack of anything better to do to cheer me up, filled my glass. Very good friend.

"What do you think the conflict could be?" Had asked

"Maybe you're over analyzing it. Maybe by conflict it means he wants to be on top while in fact, you want to." He laughed. _Love Neville. "_Do another" He insisted.

"Like what?"

"Do mine."

"What's your middle name?"

"Frank."

Huffed. "That's not very original."

"Sorry it wasn't plucked from Shakespere." He said sarcastically.

Began to scribble once more.

"You're a 1. Basically a solitary unit, likes to be one his own, that sort."

He nodded. "HowcompatibleamIwithGinny" he mumbled into his glass.

Looked at him strangely, "What did you say?"

He blushed deep red, "How compatible am I with Ginny?"

Giggled hysterically before realizing how embarrassed he was. "Right- I'll get right on that."

Scribbled once more. "Ginerva Molly Weasley… "

"Ginerva? I always thought it stood for Virginia."

Looked up from parchment.

"Mhmm. That's a common misconception. But with a name like Ginerva, no wonder she goes by Ginny."

Neville nodded in agreement as handed him glass to fill up while scribbled out her social number.

"Ohh, she's a nine. Very interesting."

"Why is that?" He asked, handing back a full glass.

Took a sip, "Nine is the complete number, you know, three expressed three times. It means she's an achiever to the fullest degree and oh, gets a bit tempermental when things don't go her way." Huffed as recalled her sitting on stairs and stomping her feet, "As if that doesn't familiar. I'm telling you, Arithmancy is never wrong."

Neville didn't seem interested in such things. "So, are we compatible?"

Scribbled out the heart number and looked up at an expectant Neville.

"So?" he asked.

"Well" Had said, "I probably didn't wrong." Of course I didn't.

"So that's a big no, then?"

Nodded.

Felt badly. "Nine's are very hard to be compatible with in the romantic sense. In fact, they only get along with horrid 5's."

Neville grabbed my sheet of parchment and began scribbling before looking up somberly. "Potter's a 5."

Granted, this dampened the mood quite a bit but we compensated by finishing off yet another bottle of wine and Neville was too drunk to remember the horrid Arithmancy. For some reason, we had taken sudden interest in the lack of furnishings and decorations in his apartment.

"I should really go to Diagon Alley and buy some things, I just never find the time." He had commented.

"Nonsense!" Had declared as stood up (falling down as did so which was counterproductive) "I didn't get top marks in Charms for nothing!" Whipped out wand and began transforming his standard mini blinds. Had intended to transform them into charming, swooping velvet curtains but result was more along the lines of ravenous bunnies causing Neville and I to stand on couch as we hunched over in fits of giggles and fought off rabid creatures with our shoes and attempted to charm them away. After an hour, all of them were transformed into buttons (as was easiest transfiguration charm that we could think of) and we settled down. Realized the time was close to three in the morning and Mum would have fit if wasn't home when she woke up so was forced to take the Knight's Bus home in fear of splenching caused by drunk Apparation.

Just noticed note written on forearm "Come see me again- Stan". That little shit.

**5pm**

Have been so busy nursing hangover all day that almost forgot tomorrow is date with Remus. Hoorah! We're going to have a wedding and little werewolf babies as they aren't nearly as horrid as regular children. What am I going to wear? Gah!

**---------------**

**Horrid A/N Time:**

I know at one point I updated quite regularly, but the story was put on hiatus for a bit was preoccupied procrastinating for two weeks and then making presents on Christmas Eve in horrible Martha Stewart wanna-be fashion (minus allegations and such) as well as drowning myself at every Lady's Night in the past week (which happens to be four at the four bars I can go to without being carded) and suffering the consequences of the morning after. I'm not fully satisfied with this chapter, but I wanted to include some Arithmancy and the fact that we all know its just a filler between the World Cup and the Date makes it more acceptable (I hope) but I promise I'll try to do better.

Anyway, onto the thank yous, because I know some of you horrid people come just to see if your name has been mentioned. Tsk, tsk!

**Le Grimoire** – sigh, I wouldn't mind starring at him either (as long as he shaved off that horrid stache)

**cookiedoughicecream** – you think its hard to put I's in their proper place after simply reading this junk? Try doing it after writing it? Keep finding myself writing memos and work related emails in Bridget Jones fashion.

**wackoramaco87** – happy ramahanaquanzmas to you too!

**SexyGod** – it loves you too.

**Wyntermajik** – yes, the lost shoe thing was based on a personal experience. I have that $200 boot (or rather $100 dollar boot since I only have one) still in the back of my closet in hopes of finding its friend one day. I'm an optimist.

**Lalie** – peace and chocolate? Oh, youre too kind. Too bad I don't like chocolate too much. How about peace and starbucks?

**Hermione-Granger-777** – this update is dedicated for you as I hope it is a life saving device. No, I haven't read the Georgia Nicholson series, but I'll put it on my _very _long list of things to-do.

**cdkobasiuk** – I don't have a particularly witty reply for you. I just need to declare my love. You've been a great reviewer from the beginning.

**Lala182** – was there a question that she was a mary sue? You're giving me a complex.

**jacksparrowspearl** – you're fabulous

**Lucidshard** – must declare my love to you as well.

**Chibi06** – you reviewed four times in the matter of an hour, so I cant very well add you under the one liners, but I'm glad you enjoyed it.

**Chaos-chick3** – I thought the hag was great.

**ginny3000** - then here's a reminder!

**Monai** – as long as youre not in high school or lower, I find that totally acceptable. In fact, I hear pulling a basic instinct in the front row during a lecture is a great way to get to know each other better.

_And to the one liners or the ones I couldn't think of a decent response…_

**BrennaM****Messed-upMadness****Sugary Peach Tea****, Lunnetta, **


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